Plains speaking

We are enjoying a day of downtime here in Greenwood, a presentable if slightly humid suburb of Indianapolis, and appreciating the lavish hospitality of my eldest niece and her husband. Despite the best efforts on both sides we did not contrive to dine with Cousin Dave, whose workday hours vary with the vagaries of the regional power grid, but we did talk to him for an hour that evening thanks to the miracle of modern wireless technology. A shout-out to Dave F, and we’ll connect another time.

Wednesday was spent in a sprint across the plains along I-80, stopping only for fuel and micturation. Although lusher than South Dakota, Iowa was a bit short on scenic wonder than the Black Hills or the Columbia gorge; we are advised nevertheless that compared to the view from I-80 through Nebraska, Iowa is Yosemite. We actually traversed Illinois without stopping, although some poorly-executed signage did cause us to traverse the same eleven-mile stretch of highway twice shortly after we entered the state from Iowa.

Last night we relaxed under a pleasantly sultry midwestern sky, sipping adult beverages, marveling at the fireflies (or "lightning bugs" in local parlance) and reminiscing over a three- or four-decade range of family memories (there will be a lot of that before this expedition winds up next month), which would certainly have bored the wits out of the grandnephews had Greatuncle Gregory not cleverly distracted them with a cunning iPod astronomy app. The grandnieces are a little young to be bored by grownup conversation (I suspect they merely tune it out as superfluous noise, which, come to think of it, much grownup conversation actually is), and are also cautious and reserved in the presence of three massive male strangers.

My eldest niece, our gracious hostess, and my youngest, our staff photographer (she has taken over nine hundred photos since Saturday morning with her Canon digital SLR, none of which have appeared on this blog), are separated by twenty years of age, but enjoy nevertheless a tender sisterly bond that they expressed last night by going out to a local body modification emporium, there to have matching posts inserted into the sides of their noses. Myself, I've always thought that one of the objectives of a life rationally conducted ought to be to get through it with as few additional holes in oneself above and beyond the original factory specs as possible, but this sentiment is clearly not shared by the under-forty set. Stick around long enough and we all of us eventually become exiles in the culture, garrulous expats reminiscing about the lost precincts of our formative years, the blue remembered hills…whoops.

Above: We have observed this chain throughout the midwest. A shout-out to Facebook chum Bob Evens, benefactor to humankind.